Master and Servant
by budgefan1990
Summary: Fill for ygokinkmeme. Prompt: "ruseshipping with malik topping from the bottom, bonus points if at some point there's a role reversal and rishid takes control of he situation." MalikxRishid


This is a fill I did a little while back for ygokinkmeme on tumblr because I've got a soft spot for ruseshipping/Rishid in general sue me. The prompt: **"ruseshipping with malik topping from the bottom, bonus points if at some point there's a role reversal and rishid takes control of the situation"**

I don't own Yugioh

Malik is out again. He's taking out his frustrations on a woman in town, one of three (or was it two now?), and he'll come home wanting the perfume out of his clothes. And Rishid will obey, as always.

It had happened suddenly this time. The Ishtars were having dinner, all three of them (which was rare these days, Ishizu often worked very late), when the subject of Malik's nightlife had come up. It had been a short, pointed remark, Ishizu with her eyes cast down in her wine and her tone a bit too firm for pleasant conversation.

"Monique came to the museum today," and Malik had looked up from his plate. "She was crying."

"Was she."

"Yes, she was." Ishizu's pretty face set in a glare. "She said she saw you at the club last night. With a girl."

Malik had the decency to look away, off to the side, as if recalling something unpleasant. "Yeah, I suppose she did. So what?"

"_With _a girl_._Malik."

He fell silent. Rishid leaned forward a bit, hands on his knees, and waited.

"_Malik_." More firmly this time, and when he set his jaw in defiance she scoffed. "I don't understand you. I honestly don't. You're a man, I get it, whatever… but this isn't even the first time, and frankly I'm tired of it._ You_ are tired of it, I know you are. You don't even like clubs!" Her glass hit the table forcefully, and Malik looked up. "What is it going to take, Malik? What if you get _sick_?!"

That did it. He was out of his seat like a shot, looming over his sister with a blazing glare, and Rishid was only halfway up himself when his master turned on his heel and left. They heard the keys to his motorcycle being snatched off the counter, and the door slam, and then there was silence, and Rishid met Ishizu's pleading eyes.

"Rishid," she said softly, and he realized only then how close she was to tears, "help him."

What Ishizu didn't know was that Rishid _did_ help him, when the women weren't enough. She knew that when Malik couldn't satisfy his restlessness, or his anger, or his need for control he went out… she knew that much, and though she pitied her brother's "girlfriends", she understood. But she didn't know that he had other needs, ones that women couldn't fulfill, ones that he wouldn't—_couldn't_—go out for. And with _those_needs… Rishid helped him.

He's been fucking Malik for the past eight months.

Sometimes Rishid wonders why it doesn't feel wrong. Even the first time, when Malik had stumbled into his room, pupils so large his eyes flashed in the dark, Rishid had returned the sloppy kisses without question. He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted it until he was inside Malik for the first time, bringing his master the pleasure that had always eluded him. Sometimes he wonders why Malik didn't go to someone else instead, someone wild and young and fun and frivolous… but there is nobdy else that could meet the boy's endless demands. No dirty talk, no hair pulling, _absolutely no marking._No touching his back, or his feet, or (as Rishid had discovered the first night, much to his chagrin) his cock. Can't get on top of him, can't come inside him. Don't ask for his mouth, and be grateful for his hand. Don't move unless he says so… it is such torturously restrictive sex that it may even have been Malik's kink, but it clearly isn't, because oftentimes he doesn't even finish. Nevertheless, Rishid not only follows the rules but anticipates them, because he knows Malik very well; other men don't. Other men could be killed for breaking the rules, because Malik is not as cured of his violent streak as some may like to think.

So when Ishizu had left, and Rishid had finished cleaning up, he went to his room, took off his clothes, and laid down. This was where Malik would find him, when he came back an unsatisfied mess with no time to spare in undressing him. This is where he would lay under his master, watching his body be used like a toy, and then he would fall asleep here, in the calm after the storm, warm and alone…

The sound of the door wakes Rishid; he didn't realize he'd dozed off. His ears key in on the clash of Malik's things hitting the counter, the sharp thumping of his boots towards Rishid's end of the hall. He's already half hard, he notices as his door is flung open.

"Malik," he says softly, sitting up halfway only to be pushed down again, hot mouth on his. He is immediately conscious of the perfume; Malik seems to be as well, because he pulls away to yank off his tight black muscle tee and whip it disdainfully across the room. Rishid is momentarily entranced by the snakelike movement of taut muscle under tawny skin, his attention only recaptured by Malik's fierce gaze.

"Wash that," he mutters, leaning back in. Rishid closes his eyes and concentrates on the taste in his mouth, an alcohol he never partakes in and something sickly sweet. He wants to wash Malik instead, inside and out, but he nods. Malik groans his approval and parts his lips, allowing Rishid access to the soft, hot cavern of his mouth. There is no fight for dominance; Rishid follows his master's lead, meeting the movements and pressure of his lips and his dexterous tongue but not exceeding them. Large hands find their place on Malik's waist (Rishid knows better than to wrap them around his back), and Malik drapes his arms buoyantly over broad shoulders in return. A thrill goes down Rishid's neck when he feels Malik's teasing fingertips there, brushing past the back of his ear before digging into the thick hair at the base of his skull and gripping tight. When a slick sweat has formed between them, Malik pulls back with a wet sound and a devilish lick at Rishid's teeth. Resting on his haunches over the bigger man's hips, Malik meets the Rishid's eyes, which, though dilated and hazy, are plainly awaiting the next order. Malik's own eyes are sparkling, and he smirks saucily before he gets up to kick off his boots.

Rishid hears the zip of Malik's jeans being undone as he reaches over to the nightstand, quickly finding the half-empty bottle of lubricant, popping the lid with the callous of his thumb and setting to slicking his full erection. He hears the jeans hit the floor in the same corner of the room as the shirt had gone, and then the boy is on him again, licking his lips and moving hungrily against him. It's times like these Rishid recalls the drunken declarations that Malik has made, though he never brings them up afterward; his master likes his body, the bigness and strength of it, his chest and hands especially. He likes Rishid's eyes, and he thinks he's handsome, and he _loves_his cock. There was one night that a particularly uninhibited Malik couldn't shut up about how great it was, and when fawning over it wasn't enough, he'd lavished it with his mouth. It had never happened since, and Rishid was definitely the only one who remembered it happening at all, but the memory gives him goosebumps nonetheless. Through half-lidded eyes he focuses on that same mouth, panting and wet, and the urge to meet it with his own is overwhelming… but Malik has other plans. He leans down, brushing his chapped lips along the arch of Rishid's neck, caressing his broad chest, running deft fingers down his sides, and then up again until his hands are planted firmly on Rishid's shoulders… and then he shoves him back until his body hits the bed, and Rishid knows that he can't move now.

His heart sinks—they were moving quicker than he liked, he barely even got to touch him—as he watches Malik reach over him to where he'd left the lube, watches longingly as his master starts fingering himself, groaning with heat, and he can't do anything about it. If he reaches out to touch Malik's straining length, he'll be pushed back. If he bites into that beautifully arched neck, he'll be yelled at. If he obeys the command of every nerve in his body and grabs those hips to slam them down on his cock… he'll be sleeping on the street (or in the hospital) tonight. Instead, he watches, even as his shaft is caressed by Malik's guiding fingers and the head is surrounded by the tight heat of his master's hole. Watches with a groan as he disappears, inch by inch, into Malik's body. The urge to move is maddening, and Malik's hands are still on his shoulders, because Malik knows that he needs to be reminded.

Rishid can't watch anymore; his head falls back to meet the mattress, and he feels the tightness around his length shift torturously as his master begins to fuck himself on it. Slowly at first, but Malik is impatient (more than usual) tonight and he has a _very _high tolerance for pain; it doesn't take long before he's bouncing up and down, grunting and gasping, muscular thighs straining to maintain his pace. The noises go straight to Rishid's groin, pooling in heat and tension, and he screws his eyes shut, curling his hands into fists in the sheets. He guesses that Malik notices this because the pressure leaves his shoulders, releasing him only in the unspoken agreement that he'll stay put. One hand presses into the mattress beside his head as Malik leans forward over him, the other hand undoubtedly fisting his erection; with this shift in position Rishid can feel Malik's hot breath fanning over his forehead. He can hear the moans, and the small noises that catch in the boy's throat. And he opens his eyes —because he knows Malik's are closed— and stares at his face, shrouded in a halo of sandy blonde, gleaming with sweat, brows knit together. Thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, flushed, wet mouth open… Rishid's heart aches, and he leans up to kiss that mouth when something catches his eye. At first he thinks it's a trick of the light, but he cocks his head to the side and sure enough, there it is—just under Malik's ear, there is a _huge_, bruising blotch, purple and red and _black_. The mark is about the entire length of the column of Malik's neck, deepest near his jaw where Rishid can see the pattern of small teeth. Is it even possible that he hadn't seen it before? Had it been hidden under his hair? Rishid hadn't noticed it, but now that he has, the world falls away around him, his eyes fixed on the spot.

Malik's skin is not light. This mark took effort, and Malik had permitted it. Maybe he had even liked it, being marked by some woman, some stranger who didn't know that marking him was what his father had done to earn his death. Rishid had thought he knew all about the women, but he had never known Malik to allow this sort of thing of them. More importantly, he had never allowed this sort of thing of Rishid, not that he'd ever dared to try.

And suddenly, Rishid was not only one of many, he wasn't even the favorite of Malik's toys.

He feels Malik go still, and hears his name being called in question. Apparently, his hands had left the sheets and were hovering near Malik's shoulders, which was against the _rules_. Malik lets out a muffled yelp when Rishid's mouth is forced on his; his complaints are swallowed, and Rishid's large hands move to his hair, gripping it tightly and bringing them even closer together. They never kiss like this, Rishid never attacks like this, and Malik can feel panic coiling around his throat… but this is Rishid, and Rishid would never hurt him… still, he plants his hands against his chest to push him away, but the bigger man won't budge. Malik pulls back instead, gasping for breath, glaring down at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Rishid glares back, eyes searing, as his hips thrust up purposefully. Malik's face scrunches up with pleasure, a groan escaping his lips, but he pushes back again, with more force this time.

"Rishid!"

Malik's order dies in his throat when strong hands grasp his hips and Rishid lurches forward to claim his mouth again. Knocked off balance, Malik has to put his arms around Rishid's broad back to keep from falling backward onto the mattress. Unintentionally he's brought their chests together just as Rishid brings their hips to meet as well, and with their bodies flush against eachother Malik is aware that Rishid is large enough to kill him. When Rishid presses for entrance, the thought of denying him is out of Malik's thought in an instant. For once in his life, the bigger man seems intent on taking what he wants. And for doing that, the position leaves much to be desired; with a grunt Rishid sits up and settles back onto his heels, dragging Malik into his lap before he can escape. Malik's legs are spread so wide it's embarrassing, and with newfound strength, Rishid pounds into the lithe body trapped in his arms. When he feels the hum of Malik's moans against his teeth, Rishid separates their mouths and watches the boy throw his blonde head back, brows knit and mouth gaping. He swallows, and his throat is dry, and he grasps Malik's hips tighter.

Rishid is_ terrified_.

Even as he thrusts up into his master, hard and fast and deep like he's always wanted, his heart is racing uncontrollably. He can't do it. He can't disobey Malik, and more importantly, he can't betray his trust. He could tell himself that he can't help it, that it was too painful to sit still and watch—because it _was _painful—but he knew that wasn't true. Why didn't he stop? As if he could stop, with Malik groaning and keening and bouncing on his dick—it wasn't too late to apologize, to get on his hands and knees, naked before the man that haunted his every waking moment. Put his head to the floor and beg for forgiveness. But he didn't. Because he would do anything for Malik, had done everything for him, he endured and even anticipated the grueling sex, obeyed the rules he wasn't allowed to question…

And Malik goes out to let one of his whores dig her teeth into his neck, and he comes back wanting the perfume out of his clothes.

Rishid doesn't want forgiveness.

"Ngh… Rishid!" Malik's broken away again, his brows knit as he's bounced up and down, breath forced out of him in gasps. "_Rishid!_"

The larger man shakes his head, heart caught in his throat—this is it, it's already done, there's no turning back—and quickens his pace. His adrenaline is high, and Malik's gotten tighter around him. He was feeling it.

"Rishid!"

He's close, very close, thighs slapping the firm flesh of Malik's ass with every thrust. He brings his mouth to Malik's again, muffling his orders, because he can't hear them now. He's so close… Rishid's stomach drops as he's pushed away, more violently than before, and his shoulders are caught in Malik's bruising grip. The movement stops. He dares to meet his master's eyes.

"Fuck!" Malik grabs his wrist, and Rishid can only stare dumbly as his hand is pulled toward the boy's straining erection. "I said _touch_me, goddamn you!"

Rishid blinks, the words falling from his mouth before he even thinks them.

"Yes, Master Malik."

His pulse is deafening as he curls his fingers around the warm, velvety flesh of Malik's shaft, feeling the firmness of his master's want for the first time. His eye catches the twitch of Malik's lower abs, and a thrill runs through his veins, knowing his touch was the cause. Like the rest of him, Malik's cock was beautiful, perfect… Rishid pumps it once, and Malik moans in his ear, and murmurs, "Did I tell you to stop?"

He doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, Rishid has one hand on Malik's hip, the other working his shaft in time with his thrusts. Malik's arms wrap around Rishid's back, tighter this time, his fingers digging in viciously. The racing of Rishid's heart has only increased, but now, the feeling is fluttering in his throat; he's elated. Malik wants this, Malik wants him, they can't do this for him, no one can. Rishid lets himself believe this to silence the roar of his blood when he sees the mark on Malik's neck again. And when his master's calls of pleasure are too much for him to handle, Rishid moves to pull out…but Malik only tightens his grip, _don't you fucking dare, Rishid I swear to god_and he's cumming just a split second too soon. Hands locked onto the boy's hips, he spends his last thrusts to the sound of Malik's own orgasm; it's a hiss of his name that sends an extra shiver down his tensed back. Their bodies are stiff, for a moment, breathless.

And then it's over. Malik pushes Rishid back, and this time he's not expecting it so he meets the mattress with a grunt. The boy pulls away, shifting to the side and flopping onto his back; on the twin bed, their shoulders and arms can't help but meet, heat emanating off both. Rishid's mind races with a thousand questions; but the silence is warm, and he doesn't break it. A minute passes, and still, Rishid has not been left alone.

"Your bed's too small."

The quiet voice suprises him, and he turns to watch Malik swing his legs over the end of the bed. Rishid blinks, blood thickening around his heart as the intricate pattern of Malik's back slips in and out of his vision. Had he misread him? The air around them begins to cool, and Malik is unmoving, as if his mind has gone blank. And the possibility that Rishid doesn't know his master as well as he thought becomes very real when Malik wordlessly stands, picks up his boots, and heads for the door.

Rishid is upright, frozen. Then he settles back. He's forgotten how to cry (maybe he'd never really known) but there is a cruel tickle at the back of his throat. Of course this wouldn't work. Of course he couldn't have this, as Malik's footfalls reach the door without a moment's hesitation. Rishid had forgotten his place, and he should be grateful that this… indifference was his only punishment. He allows his eyes to close, ready to welcome the night's regret, a familiar companion in the sweat-soaked dark.

"Well?"

Rishid's eyes pop open, shift to the side, and he finds Malik's silhouette hovering awkwardly near the door. They regard one another.

Malik rolls his eyes.

"Are you coming?"

And suddenly everything's right again. Better than right, he can breathe again and it's pathetic that Rishid might be happier than he's ever been.

"Yes, Master Malik."


End file.
